Best Brown Haired Poems
Where lilacs bloomed, I spied a brown-haired child.
She, riveted by what was in her book,
did not see me! She wore a wistful look.
I guessed her to be somewhat shy and mild.
The girl at last looked up and showed surprise
to see me standing there to study her.
What happened after that is now a blur,
but I recall she had my same light eyes.
Where lilacs bloomed, I’d sat against that tree
while reading. Was I then inside a dream?
A woman startled me. Why does it seem
the woman who appeared that day was me?
Sept. 15, 2018
for Dear Heart's Enclosed Rhyme - September, 2018 Poetry Contest
We run, we jump, we cry, we laugh,
We sit, we stand, we're weak, we're tough,
We're fat or slim, we swag and sway...
We love like you love, and we're gay.
In morning light, you slumber still:
Familiar form against my chest,
It is your favourite place to rest.
I tickle you with senseless skill.
You make espresso, I fix bread
We yawn in unison, and smile
You dress in orange, your own style,
I love you (I already said)
We run, we jump, we cry, we laugh,
We sit, we stand, we're weak, we're tough,
We're fat or slim, brown-haired or gray
We love like you love, and we're gay.
You push my chair, we walk the dogs
The weather nice, trees green and lush
You kiss my lips, I chastely blush
Only observed by croaking frogs
We're not so different,
Can't you see?
So don't be ignorant
Just let us be.
We run, we jump, we cry, we laugh,
We sit, we stand, we're weak, we're tough,
We're fat or slim, we work, we play
We love like you love, and we're gay.
***
March 18, 2017
Sponsor Laura Loo
3do place in Contest: Any Poem Written In March
Five gray, silver, and white haired crones
Navigated slimy green stones
Like tight rope walkers
Having been summoned by the wind talkers
They crossed a shallow creek
Each feeble and weak
They entered consecrated woods
Wearing cloaks and hoods
Upon awareness of being pursued
Their minds were filled with frantic thoughts of how to delude
The shadow of death
With quickened pulse and breath
One step ahead of the reaper
With soothing thoughts of being embraced by the time keeper
Five naked, old women swayed hand in hand around a fire
As the flames got higher and higher
They called the watchtowers of East, South, West, and North
And owl, bat, and snake to guard the circle as they issued forth
All while chanting hail and glory
To the goddess of folklore and story
Hecate-protector of witches
Grantor of youth, abundance, and riches
Torch and key bearing Lady of the crossroads
Divine matriarch of ancient wisdom and hallowed codes
The crones mixed a cauldron brew of aconite, mandrake, and myrrh
Intoxicated by the fumes-their vision began to blur
They drank their potion from a dragon engraved silver chalice
Upon the wings of ecstasy they ascended to Hecate’s palace
With the matron’s touch their third eye was opened to sight
The could see all that was once concealed and interpret at the speed of light
They began passing through life fast forward then reverse
Five old women joined together to avoid life’s inevitable curse
They danced and chanted from midnight to dawn
Wrinkles and sagging-fading-then gone
Eyes locked, stumbling, and entranced
Being transformed and enhanced
Gifted with immortality
Enlightened by the superior mentality
They Rhode the lightening back to the earth realm
To walk forever in the shade of the witches elm
Five blonde, red, and brown haired ladies
Escaped from the brink of Hades
Departing from the Goddess’ embrace
Five youthful women left their Divine Mother’s sacred, secluded place
With her guidance, they strolled out of the woods, and jumped a shallow creek
No longer feeble and weak
They returned to civilization
Disguising themselves and their realization
For they would be persecuted and walk through the flame
For bearing Hecate’s name
But one day upon hearing the Lady’s command
They shall rise up and once again take her hand
When bombs rained down a neighborhood
In Shiah, south Beirut one night
A brown haired boy tight clutched his toy,
A cuddly brown-furred bear, in fright.
And sobbing through the roaring din,
He whispered to his cuddly friend:
"Oh, Teddy, Teddy, hold me tight,
And stay until the bombings end."
The cuddly bear then softly spoke:
"My little friend, be not afraid.
Just hold my hand, and never cry,
We'll go to where all toys are made."
"We'll ride a fast, green, chugging train
That goes to Cave of Childhood Joy,
Just hold on tight and walk with me."
He told the brown-haired little boy.
And toddling off, they left in haste
To board the waiting silent train,
That left the station right on time
When all the other kids were in.
It softly chugged through tunnel bright,
Then reached the Cave of Childhood Joy.
All kinds of good things, there they saw,
And everywhere a brand new toy!
There, too, were dancing ice cream cones,
Brown trees with leaves of chocolate,
A bluebird singing on a branch:
"You're welcome all to choose and eat."
They did, and drank sweet soda pop
From spring they saw there flowing by;
They played on swings with silver chains,
While ponies neighed sweet lullaby.
Some drank fresh milk from gleaming cups,
And others picked sweet berries pink,
While others ate cream puffs so soft,
All fears just vanished in a blink.
The bear then told his little friend:
"I'll go to guard the tunnel door,
To stop the ants from getting in."
He left, and couldn't tell him more.
He hurried out that joyous place,
To bravely take his sentry post,
But bombs rained down the tunnel door
The entrance got, with rubble, lost.
And when rescuers came in haste,
To search through rubble for the boy,
They didn't find a trace of him,
But just his brave and cuddly toy.
no im not that girl
im not like the rest of the world
i have brown hair, not blonde
can't erase my big bum with a magic wand
i wish i could,believe YOU me
anything but this is what i wanna be
now is this a way for a person to feel?
like you'd do anything even skip 4 days of meals
i wish i could make it so no girl in the world
would never have to feel like she is just a girl
i wish we could all love ourselves
im not perfect
beauty is in the eye of the beholder they say
and i believe thats truth
it doesnt matter anyway
i should be happy with my youth
when did someone decide that in order to be beautiful,we must all be the same?
we must be thinner,thinner,thinner
we must be winners,winners,winners
my chests not that small,my bums a little big
and im brown haired not blonde i dont happen to think that makes me a pig
you wanna talk about a pathetic existence??
some blonde hair dye and a finger down your throat
that's all she wrote
It's not easy being me
The little scared
Brown eyed girl
Of which I am
I cry in a silent way
I'm funny in my own say
I'll love you till I die
Even if you make me cry
Even if she's
Trapped in me
I'll always hear
Her silent screams
It's not easy being me
The silly little
Brown haired girl
Of which I am
Even if nature
Takes her away
I'll always be
The scared little girl
It's not easy being me
For though I am the
Silly, little scared brown
Eyed and brown haired girl
Caught beneath the mistletoe while passing by was Debbie Jo;
the brown haired beauty of my dreams and subject of my midnight schemes.
She smiled at me then kissed my lips and sparks flew to my fingertips;
my head felt light, my knees grew weak, the room seemed bright, I could not speak.
It seemed as though all time stood still while lost in such a primal thrill;
a moment of eternal bliss all caused by Debbie Jo’s hot kiss.
December 20, 2019
Everytime I see your face my heart smiles
My curly brown haired
It's like it's been forever
My eyes feeding on your picture imprinted in my mind
It's taken forever to leave
Your castle embedded in my soul
Your smile hits me hard like the sun's ray at noon
Smithing the grey shadowy clouds of fearsome worry
Of a never see you again
I refuse to believe I can come to terms
The reality of you staring my eyes,binding,blinding
Can I get your shades?
My don in the academia
Running,longing,burning away in set pieces
Makes me feel your metallic core
Lounging lazily ploundering endlessly
I,left in this world with a you
A big floating ball tossed amongst us
As lows and highs mingling,switching positions
In hands of us who decides what happens
In our territorial district
Valeria Valdermare once was a young ballerina who coveted a pair of red ballerina shoes. Oh! how she truly longed to grow up to become a prima ballerina! But alas! She was last in her class. All of her peers sneered and ridiculed her not only to her face. But behind her back in her absence. She possessed neither beauty nor grace. How could she continue bearing her heartbreaking disgrace?
Valerie worked harder and longer than the other ballerinas in her age bracket. Her teachers and their assistants took pity on her. They wanted to have her parents discharge her. Why should they waste their hard earned money on more lessons? Maybe Valeria should try something simpler by becoming a book worm? She certainly did not have any athletic nor dancing abilities!
But Valeria had a secret weapon. She had her very own fairy godmother, Blue Morning Flower. Her charge Carnation Pink Mayflower, was a younger fairy godmother of her exact age. It was Carnation Pink Mayflower who was awarded the higher honors.
When Valeria laid sleeping in her bed, Carnation Pink Mayflower. Tap her brown haired crown three times. Proclaiming each time,"Valeria, your wish has been granted unto you." Valeria dreamed she saw her in her nighttime visions. She had always believed in both fairy godmothers and pixies. Her parents never tried to get her even once to change her mind.
The next morning, there was a carnation pink wrapped present besides her princes' bed. She discovered her coveted red ballerina slippers. Grabbing her presents in her small hands. She ran downstairs and showed them to her astonished parents.
The next ballerina class session, Valeria put on the red slippers. When they began the practice warm up routines. Valeria noticed the difference they made. What used to be very difficult became easier. Her dance routines were also vastly improved. She astonished her whole class! How they envied her red ballerina slippers! Her childhood dreams of being a world renowned prima ballerina had just come true! She would dream and dance in bright colors!
Love as always,
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
June 01, 2020
***Inspired by Hans Christian Anderson's "The red shoes."
I looked inside her wanting eyes
and knew that she was solely mine.
This brown haired beauty just my size
I am her guy, I am her guy
I met her at a shopping mall,
She looked just like a barbie doll.
Standing five foot six inches tall,
I gave my all, I gave my all.
Ate at a four star restaurant,
A night-cap at the coffee shop.
I kissed her then she made me stop,
she wants to talk, she wants to talk.
A couple for a while now.
She made me shave my uni-brow.
My afro too, it made me frown
my head bowed down, my head bowed down..
Jared Pickett
12/27/2006
Asavvy1
After school on a winter day
The air short of cold, but crisp
He remembered her angelic voice
With a slight and cute little lisp
Distracted, while peddling his bike
Leaving most thoughts of school behind
There she was, that brown haired girl
That was so much on his mind
He stopped and asked what she said
She said, "I thed, won't you thstop!"
He asked if she would like to ride
And up on his bike she did hop!
When she said, "You're passionate!"
He could have floated through the air
Then she said, "You're passion my house,"
"It wathe that white one back there!"
“It’s in there!”
The frizzy haired woman insisted with mirth in her eye.
“But, how?”
I asked beseechingly.
She gave a mischievous laugh from impish lips in reply
And then skipped merrily on her way.
The most precious thing I ever lost
Contained in a small puzzle box?
Ridiculous!
I paused.
No, I knew what the lady said to be true.
I could hear the enchanted object
Whispering to me
In an unfamiliar language
That my heart somehow understood.
I was missing a precious commodity.
Something very special.
My memory could only see vague outlines.
However, I was confident
A magnificent treasure
Lied within the small chest.
Now focused,
The mystery of unlocking the chest came naturally.
With greedy eagerness
I quickly opened that which held me back
From my forgotten prize.
And . . .
The chamber was empty
Save a simple unframed mirror
Taped to the inside of the lid.
I remembered the woman with a playful smile
And thought,
“Is this a woeful attempt at a joke?!”
I started to seethe
And my face began to contort
Then I saw my reflection.
Memories of loss
Due to anger, regret, and missed opportunities
Cascaded into my mind.
Were these my most precious valuables?
Did I now consider these thoughts so I could make changes?
Or did I recall them to realize that they made me who I am today?
Both or neither!
It didn’t matter.
It was simply the past
On which I didn’t dwell.
Again enraged,
I shook myself from my stupor,
tore the mirror from its place,
and threw it shattering to the ground.
“So, it was a trick.” I grumbled.
And was just about to curse
when a glint from box caught the corner of my eye.
Upon closer examination,
Behind where the looking glass once stood,
Was a simple etching that pierced me with a penitent knife.
“I heart Jenny”
Jenny.
Jennifer.
My sister who passed away
When I was the simple age of five.
A beautiful brown haired brown eyed teenager
With a kind smile and the most incredible soul.
Cancer.
Had it really been over four decades?
Too few memories and too little recollection over the years.
Now, I recalled.
Feelings as much as details.
Love and peace.
I made a commitment to myself.
To never lose sight of that which was most important again.
It was in times past of twenty something years, on a radio her voice appeared. A beautiful sound as she spoke to me, my heart melted and became happy. Twas the day I met her, I fell in love, it will last forever and thats not enough. Beautiful, brown haired girl, bow in her hair and short she was, brown eyes glowing, beautiful as the morning sun. Two wonderful children and I had none. Baby dolls and matchbox cars the kids there played, kick ball and chase and hide and go seek, were the games we played most of the week. Tiny little dark skinned girl like my own daughter she was my world. She is grown now so beautiful and nice, I watched her grow fom a distance and space, seems I never could replace her in my heart like a daughter. Little brother running about, toy cars at a run sounding like a cycle, legs moving fast as lightening, round and round he went wide open all day till the day was spent. My son in my heart, but I have more, I have 3 sons living in my heart. Time is passing with everyday and time will take me away and be able to see no more the faces I love and will always adore. Could time bring her back and thus restore a lost love of mine that I had to hide,.......I cry.....love hides.....I die inside.....will time bring her back ? ................I sigh......
.
I wish I could capture
This little boy
On paper;
In a picture,
A painting,
Or pencil drawing,
But I cant freeze a two-year-old
Who's constantly moving,
So I write...
His round brown-haired head
Bobbing around the room
Hiding behind a chair
Grinning from around the corner
Squirming in 'Gramma Minnie's' lap
Too excited for a picture
His bright blue eyes dancing
With mischief
Dashing away from 'Daddy'
His clear laughter
Bubbling up
When he's captured
And Daddy swings him
Into the air;
Its a perfect moment;
A little boy's adventures,
Putting a smile
On everyone's face.
I’ve looked at all the faces
gathered in this milling crowd,
They’re staring at the music
that is growing ever loud.
There’s only one amongst them
whose head is slightly bowed,
He stands near the brown-haired girl
wearing an old faded shroud.
A young boy reaches outward,
he’s been left to wonder why
Those pure white doves of freedom
can no longer reach the sky.
Listens to the minstrel’s words
as they slowly drift on by,
And watches a young mother
try to quell her newborn’s cry.
Footprints of the forefathers
are long gone from golden sand,
Washed away by rolling tides
that erode this sacred land.
The last of eagle feathers
have dropped from an ageing hand,
Though many wise men gathered
there’s so few that understand.
The spirits that still travel
know nothing of distant time,
The snow-capped mountains of youth
lie in mem’ries far behind.
They’re dancing to the drumbeats
and the rhythms of the mime,
Reborn through the images
of warriors in their prime.